


Shadow Bridge

by Hikaru9Yume



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, Alternate Universe - Human, Emotions, Falling In Love, Insecure Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magnus Saving Alec, Sad Alec Lightwood, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14636529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikaru9Yume/pseuds/Hikaru9Yume
Summary: Alec Lightwood's life is empty. He hides what he feels from the entire world and he resigned to live a dull life... until he sees a tall man every evening on a shadowed brige, at the same hour, on the same spot. And that will change his life."The first time he saw him was on a Friday evening.It was a rainy day. He remembers it both clearly and vaguely: it feels like an interminable dream, one of those that usually continue to repeat themselves, always in the same place, always with the same people, always ending at a particular event, but every single time something new appears. Once it’s a colour, another time it’s a feeling, then it’s a new word. Mostly, a different sensation overwhelms him every time he wakes up from the dream, and he would think about it for the rest of the day."





	Shadow Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> This time, I tried something different. I focused on Alec and his emotions: no magic, no demons, no Shadow World. Just reality and two soulmates. I hope you enjoy it!

The first time he saw him was on a Friday evening.

It was a rainy day. He remembers it both clearly and vaguely: it feels like an interminable dream, one of those that usually continue to repeat themselves, always in the same place, always with the same people, always ending at a particular event, but every single time something new appears. Once it’s a colour, another time it’s a feeling, then it’s a new word. Mostly, a different sensation overwhelms him every time he wakes up from the dream, and he would think about it for the rest of the day.

Yes, it feels like one of those dreams.

The images of that rainy Friday evening are vivid in his mind, almost too much. Yet, everything is surrounded by a grey fog, thick in places, thin in others, as if it’s waiting for him to go through it, and discover what’s behind. He doesn’t remember the scent in the air, nor what he was wearing. He doesn’t remember what he was thinking, nor the faces of the people around him.

But he remembers the man.

He noticed him because he was the only one without an umbrella. He noticed him after he had stopped in the middle of the long bridge, lost in his thoughts, the heavy rain ticking restlessly all around him.

It had been a bad day. Actually, it had been the last of a series of terrible days. But that moment changed it all.

 

***

 

His life is empty.

It’s an empty shell, a façade for his family so that they won’t think he is wasting his entire existence.

It’s a dull, grey, tedious routine. Nothing new, nothing motivating, nothing captivating. He knows he shouldn’t complain. His life is a normal one, with no insurmountable difficulties, nor particular obstacles. There are problems to solve, of course, but he’s aware that there are far worse situations out there.

Yet.

There is nothing for him.

When he first noticed something was wrong, he tried to identify the issue: he was sure he could solve it, overcome it with time and effort. He was so sure.

He was so naïve.

He realized he was empty when his sister looked at him, smiling, and asked him why he was so serious all the time lately, and why he didn’t laugh more. It was like everything froze. He knows his sister made that comment half-jokingly, a way to check whether something was really bothering him, or whether he was just deep in his thoughts about work, as it usually happened. She didn’t know. No one knows, not her, not his brother, or his parents.

He will never tell them.

What can he say anyway? Thank you for everything you do, from your support to the joyful moments, but it’s not enough?

He would hurt them. Better keep it a secret.

But he finally understood what was wrong. His life is empty.

He reacted at first. He tried to do something new, he met new people, he worked harder to achieve even more recognition.

He failed miserably.

Nothing new captured his attention; he would continue whatever he had picked for some days, and then lose interest right after. Meeting new people was even worse: he didn’t know what to talk about, nor did he understand what people were thinking. It was awkward and humiliating. Working more backfired: he was just more stressed, emptier, duller.

His world was grey.

 

 

It went on being grey for a long time. First, it was just a matter of days. Then they became weeks. Then months. And he is still in the same thick fog, long hours passing by, his life slipping through his fingers and never coming back. He feels like he is wasting time, waiting for something to happen, for a big revelation to come. That was what he convinced himself of at the beginning. But then, nothing.

So he accepted it. He accepted something was wrong. That he has no joy, that he has no motivation. That nothing is enough.

Until that Friday night.

He doesn’t enjoy rainy days. They make him feel sadder, forsaken. No one notices while they hide behind their umbrellas; no one talks to him at work when everyone’s mood is bad because of the weather. So he feels forgotten.

Until some colours spread all around him.

 

 

He remembers dreading the weekends. At least, during the week, he doesn’t have much time to think: he has to work all day, and by the time he comes back home in the evening, he’s just too tired to be miserable. So he usually cooks something very quickly, or sometimes he doesn’t bother at all, and he goes to sleep. But the weekends are something else. It means he has more time to be trapped in dangerous thoughts. It means his family will check on him, asking him why he doesn’t have dinner with them on Saturday evenings anymore, or why he hasn’t stopped by for a while now. It means being aware of not knowing where he’s going in his life and what he wants to do.

He remembers working until late on that Friday, until everyone said goodbye to each other but him. Or maybe they did wish him a nice weekend as well, but he didn’t notice. He promises himself to pay more attention next time, and he always fails at that too.

He remembers checking his phone and noticing how late it was. So he probably grabbed his jacket and his umbrella, and ventured out into the autumn evening. He doesn’t recall what happened before. He assumes his actions were those, because it’s what he usually does. But he’s not sure.

He’s sure of the cold that hit him and that made him hunch a little, as if trying to defend himself from an invisible enemy. He’s sure he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and stopping himself from looking at the street beneath him, and losing his mind in dark thoughts.

His eyes were hit by multiple blurred lights when he raised them, like distant stars struggling to reach him.

Then everything stopped.

Because one light blinded him suddenly, and he couldn’t help himself but halt and blink very fast. And it felt like waking up: the noise of the traffic rushing in, the gentle rhythm of the lake under the long bridge seeping through, the persistent ticking of the heavy rain pounding restlessly, the dark blue of the late evening invading his monochrome greyness.

All around him the tiny, hazy stars seemed to point towards a clear direction.

And he finally saw him.

 

He was the only one without an umbrella. He was there, leaning against the parapet of the bridge, his hands forgotten on the railing. He appeared unaware of all the people who walked behind him without noticing him, hurrying to escape the assault of the rain, hoping to find shelter soon.

He didn’t seem to care and he kept on looking ahead of him.

Alec followed the man’s gaze for an instance, and he noticed the glorious night: the vivid light of the city all around them, in contrast with the eclipse of the sky, suffused with shades of sapphire and navy, the colours fighting the brilliance of the silver lake, a mirror capturing everything.

He didn’t know if the same sight was reflecting in the man’s eyes. He was too far, and the angle was all wrong: Alec could see his profile, but he couldn't grasp the details, like the colour of his eyes or his expression.

Thus, he stayed there, watching the man captured by the sapphire and the mirror.

He was tall, almost as tall as him; his back was broad and well defined, but not too much; his posture was elegant, his back straight and his head high, yet Alec had no impression of arrogance or pretentiousness.

His clothes were dark in the hidden moonlight; he’s still not sure whether his jacket and trousers were black or just appeared so in the artificial starry night. His hair looked soft even if caressed by the incessant rain and he swears he already noticed some of the extravagant colours that first night. He thinks he noticed some blue locks, but he can’t be certain.

Those first minutes of observation were so vivid and full of colours. He felt like he was looking at a wonderful, yet mysterious painting for the first time, and after a moment of awe, he tried to decipher its secrets.

What was the man doing? Why was he there, looking at the night sky without seeking for shelter, drenched in the cold autumn rain? How could he be so oblivious to the traffic, the people rushing behind him and the sound of the night?

For the first time after months, Alec felt a small spark in his soul. He was curious. Something was happening outside of his routine, something as innocuous as noticing a man standing on a shadowed bridge, on a late Friday evening.

He knows he didn’t realize the importance of that moment at first. Because if he had, he wouldn’t have got distracted so easily. All that it took was a distant noise – a car honking at a traffic light near them – and his attention shifted without him even knowing it. He looked behind him, his body turning and his feet taking an involuntary step back. He noticed in that moment how stiff he felt, as if he had stayed in the same position for hours. And he suddenly blinked, remembering the man. He was sure it was a matter of seconds. Yet, in that very spot where the tall figure was standing a minute ago, there was no one.

He couldn’t believe it.

He hurried forward, one, two, three steps, and he stopped before reaching his destination. He didn’t want to go there; he felt as if he didn’t belong: he didn’t want to steal the man’s place.

Alec looked around himself for a while, abruptly aware of the people passing by, some ignoring him, some looking at him strangely. He thought – he believed – he saw a dark jacket and a shock of black and blue highlights in the distance, but now he’s sure it had only been his imagination.

The man was gone.

 

****

 

That night, when he came back home, he felt different for the first time. He didn’t understand at that time _what_ changed; however, he noticed small differences: his head was lighter, his mind more distracted. Time moved faster all of a sudden, and he found himself in bed that very Friday night, dreading those silent hours of the night: he usually tosses around and tries to stop his thoughts about empty lives and failures, and they inevitably give him a headache. Instead, he fell asleep as soon as he leaned against the pillow; no dreams, no anxiety, nothing. Just harmless, peaceful sleep.

The next day was strange. He woke up with more energy than normal, his mind quieter after months of chaos. He recalls how he spent part of the day as he ordinarily would: do some chores, tidy his apartment, buy some food. And then he checked the hour after some time: he noticed darkness was descending, and the afternoon transformed into a breezy, rainless twilight.

The same exact hour as the evening before.

Could the man be there again, on the same exact spot, at the same exact hour? He doubted it. And why would he care? It wasn’t as if he knew him, nor had any interest in introducing himself. The evening before had just been a casual moment of distraction, nothing more. Maybe it had been about the beauty of the moment: the lights, the rain and the background noise surrounding that elegant figure. Nothing else.

So why did he want to check again?

It wasn’t because of the man himself. Of course it wasn’t. He was just an interference in his dull life, something new for his mind to focus on rather than chasing an unrealistic dream of fulfilled days and accomplishments. Yes, of course it was that, he thought at that time. It was a way to get distracted.

Before he could stop himself, he was grabbing his jacket, locking the front door and rushing outside.

Just a nice, harmless walk to clear his head.

He was so stupid.

He reached the bridge from the other side this time, and casually looked at _that_ place, sure that he would find no one.

And he didn’t. There was no one.

He halted, realizing that there _were_ indeed people around him, more than on Friday, thanks to the clear sky and free day. But no sign of the man.

There was no reason for him to be disappointed, yet he couldn’t help it, nor could he stop his shoulders from hunching a little, or his thoughts from getting darker for the rest of the evening.

Because when he came back home, everything was grey again and he felt lost once more. He tried to understand why before going to sleep. Why would a single, random scene change his day and shift his thoughts? He couldn’t understand.

So, when Sunday arrived, he was the same Alec as the last months: resigned, hopeless, restless. It was a normal day, with the usual messages from his siblings checking whether he was okay, with the same feeling of loneliness in his empty apartment, of fear that he was losing precious time but he didn’t know what to do to be happy.

He didn’t go for a walk that day.

 

***

 

He feels like his life restarted one week ago, on that Friday evening. If he looks around him now, alone in his room, nothing seems different. There are no evident changes in his life, just new habits, like visiting the city bridge, and enjoying a walk in the evening, hoping to distract his treacherous mind.

It has become a habit, hasn’t it? He didn’t want it to be. In fact, he had given up the day after, when he didn’t see him again. However, he didn’t even think about changing the usual way he uses to get home. He loves walking, and, although crossing the bridge isn’t the fastest route, he still enjoys the sight of the lake and the distraction that a walk might give him.

He looks outside the window of his bedroom, his body relaxing against the window frame, the night outside calm and alluring.

So on Monday, in the early evening, when everyone was already having dinner, after a long day of work, of lying to his siblings again about being okay, of finding new excuses not to go home and pretend all the time, he put his jacket on and left the building.

It was a matter of seconds. He felt the same awe as he does while he watches the black sky during those nights when he’s too worried to fall asleep. He usually leans against the window frame, like he’s doing now; he gazes up towards the endless darkness, getting lost among the stars. Then his heart is suddenly hit and it beats faster and louder when he sees a star falling faraway, and it’s just a matter of seconds at these times too, as if he sees something in the corner of his eye, not in its entirety, but still not too late. Awestruck, by nothing and everything at the same time, by a distraction or a sign of hope, by an empty promise or a new path.

He felt the same, that Monday after work, surrounded by the shadows of the evening.

Because abruptly, he found himself on that bridge again. And without him even realizing, his eyes had found the new cause of interference in the chaos and desolation in his life.

The man.

How could he recognize him again, after just one time, he still doesn’t know. What he does know, is the fact that the man was on the same spot as before: just around the middle of the bridge, where the cool breeze is crisper and the view more breathtaking. And there he was, standing tall as if he owned the bridge itself, – or the lake, or even the clear cobalt sky, who knows – oblivious to the world moving behind him, as if he was not interested in what people were doing, but only in what nature could offer.

Alec had stopped moving, like on Friday, the same surprise, the same movements, the same bewilderment.

What was the man doing?

He was looking at the lake and at the sky for sure; he could see the same half of his face as the first time, the one showing from Alec’s left.

He took a step closer, almost involuntarily, trying to catch more.

The man’s attire was different. This time he had opted for a golden hue: his trousers were black, but his jacket was scattered with gold, like the stars above them. He is sure he noticed some golden locks as well. He loved dressing well, didn’t he?

With the exception of the clothes, Alec didn’t catch anything diverse. He was still leaning against the parapet; his face seemed relaxed as much as his body was. Was he lost in his thoughts like Alec when he waits for the dark hours to pass, gazing at the falling stars? Was he there to relax, to have a moment for himself, out of the chaos of the day, out of the stress of a normal workday, like Alec while walking back home in the evening? Was he thinking about those he loves, about his life?

He had no answers to the multiple questions hammering in his mind, yet Alec wasn’t bothered by that. He only felt surprised to find the man again, and, above all, curious. He was eager to stop thinking about all his problems and all the negative aspects of his existence. And seeing the man again was the perfect opportunity to do so.

So he stayed there for what he felt was just a brief moment, watching the man who was watching the universe around them.

After a while, Alec noticed a movement.

The man had turned to his left. He put his hands in his pockets, and he started walking away, gracefully as Alec imagined he would move, in the same direction he usually goes to reach home.

His back turned towards him, Alec kept on following the man’s movements, alone now on the shadowed bridge, until he couldn’t see him anymore.

And he finally woke up.

He remembers frowning, as if he suddenly realized what was happening. What he thought were just minutes were in fact thirty minutes. He stayed there gazing at a stranger for half an hour. He felt strange and a bit embarrassed, but he also understood what was happening.

For thirty minutes he stopped thinking about himself. There were no thoughts about bad days, dull routines, lies and failures. There was no negative judgement towards himself, no shame, no regrets, no resentment.

For the first time, he focused on something – on someone – else. It felt good. It felt refreshing. It felt as if he did something new for himself, as if he stopped worrying completely for once, and gained some energy back.

Yes, it felt good, even if a bit puzzling.

 

That was the same excuse he used every workday from that moment on. For the rest of that week and the week after, the man was there, at the same hour, on the same spot. And Alec would notice and stop in the middle of his walk back home, enraptured by the sight.

At first he just thought that stopping for a while there, forgetting his problems and focusing on the man, was just a way of distracting himself and get through the day. Having something to look forward to at the end of the evening had changed something, even if small, in him. The long hours at work didn’t feel so heavy and eternal anymore; his mind didn’t seem so tired and resigned as well.

By the end of the first week, he knew that that was just an excuse.

He went through the next four days of the week, Friday included, noticing the little differences in the man’s appearance. The perfect clothes, always matching, always giving him a story to discover. Why that particular hue of copper, after black and gold? Was he trying to go back to a darker colour, after the brilliance of that second night? It seemed so, since the next day he wore a burgundy shirt with gold highlights. That Tuesday Alec noticed for the first time how the colour of his nail polish would usually match the colour he had chosen. He had confirmation of that on Wednesday, when he was confronted with a glittery bordeaux evening. If Alec thought that particular colour looked good on him, he had to think about his favourite attire all over again the following day, when the man wore a long black coat with a silky scarf. He seemed really solemn and quite serious on Thursday, and for the first time Alec felt like he shouldn’t be there. What if the man turned around and caught him staring?

He was ready to give up on his evening walk on Friday. He didn’t even know why. There was nothing really new in the man’s appearance or movements, yet Alec felt something had changed. Was it the black attire? Was it the fact that he was observing – spying? Was he _spying_? – a stranger for the fourth consecutive evening, and for the fifth time even. Would it be okay if someone else was doing the same to him? Of course it wouldn’t.

He was determined to end it. He had to. He had had his distraction; he had had his moment of fresh air. Now it was time to move on.

He doesn’t know what went wrong when he reached the beginning of the bridge. He was ready to turn on his left, take another way just around the bridge, and get home sooner rather than after a long walk. Yet, when he was shifting towards his new destination, he glanced _there_ , and he saw him.

He was wearing his favourite colour. Blue.

He had to see.

His body turned without him telling it to, and he stopped all of a sudden when he noticed he got nearer to the man than he had ever been before, too near. He was wearing a brilliant blue shirt, with a sparkling black jacket. Alec could see red eyeshadow that matched his dark red nail paint quite well.

He looked really beautiful.

And that was the first time Alec was the first one to leave.

He didn’t wait for the man to move and walk away; he stepped away first, calmly, dazed, and he walked past the man’s back, toward home.

When he got to his destination, exactly one week after he first saw him, Alec understood.

It wasn’t just a matter of distraction. It wasn’t just a matter of thinking about something else, of forgetting his problems and focusing on someone that was not him. It was also something else.

He was fascinated. He liked what he saw evening after evening. He found the man beautiful, elegant and intriguing. He felt a pang of curiosity every time he left work; he recognized how his heartbeat increased playfully, telling him he was waiting for that moment of the day. He loved discovering the new colours and guessing if there was meaning behind them, or if the man just picked them because he fancied them.

He liked the man himself.

He recalls sitting lifelessly on his bed at that moment.

 _Like_? How could he like him? Of course he didn’t like the man. He didn’t even know him. Was he intrigued? Fascinated? Yes, he was. But there was no way he was interested in the man. Perhaps he was enthralled by his mysteries. Why was he there on that bridge, every early evening? Why was he alone? Did he work nearby too? Did he go there to have a moment for himself and stop thinking about the world for a while? Was he pretending that everything was alright too? Was he happy or did he need anything? Alec had a thousand questions he would never have an answer to.

Perhaps he was bewitched by his elegance. Anyone could see he was a beautiful man, so of course he was affected.

Yes, it was just the thrill of the unknown and the charm of his beauty. Nothing else. It was too superficial to count as something, so the visits at the bridge had to stop once and for all. No regrets, no change of mind. His life needed to go on.

 

***

 

At first, he felt better after making that decision. It was settled. No more stolen glances, no more restlessness at work, no more embarrassment for his actions. No more. It was a relief, as if he got rid of something unpleasant, as if he just buried a distressing memory.

It’s true he didn’t sleep well that night, but it was still better than those sleepless hours of some weeks before. He woke up once or twice because of meaningless and stressful dreams where he kept on following and chasing shadows. He was always trying to catch one in particular, but it continued to elude him and seep through his fingers. It felt like velvet, soft and promising, familiar and tempting.

 

Now, however, he feels completely different.

He woke up feeling empty and heavy at the same time. Empty, because he lost something – what, he didn’t even know. Heavy, because everything was suddenly back as it was before: there was nothing he looked forward to during the day, nothing that could distract him from the lies he was telling himself and his family. Lies about how he fits in, how he likes his job and aspirations, how proud he feels about his fulfillment, how he doesn’t need love in his life.

Lies, all lies.

He can’t go on lying. That is why he stopped wandering through his rooms, cleaning, tidying, organizing the paperwork he wanted to continue to work on during the weekend. That is why he ignored his sister’s and brother’s messages, as well as the missing calls from his mother. That is why he is back leaning against the frame of his bedroom window, looking at the twilight embracing everything, the dark red and blue colours all around, reminding him of the bridge and the mysterious man.

Would a stranger understand his situation? He doesn’t think so. And why would he open up with someone he doesn’t know? Because he feels safe and looks familiar? Impressions like those were always wrong, anyway.

But he can’t tell everything to his family. He can’t share that he is not happy and he doesn’t even know why. He can’t say he doesn’t feel anything while he works or when he dines alone, nor that he has given up on everything. He can’t explain that his life has been spiraling down for months, when he realized he just didn’t click with others after another set up by his family. No, he didn’t feel like meeting the Branwell’s daughter, family friends or not. No, he remembers pretty clearly what happened the last time he tried to “befriend” someone they chose, and yes, it was as awkward as they think. No, he doesn’t like the idea of falling in love. No, he doesn’t need someone in his life.

He couldn’t tell them why. He didn’t know – he doesn’t know, even now – how they would react. He knows, deep down, that Izzy and Jace would understand, but he’s not entirely sure. Or maybe, he’s just not ready.

But why would they care? They shouldn’t. It’s his life, anyway. He’s free to change work if he wants to, to love someone of his same sex if he wants to, to move to another city if that’s what would make him happy. Right?

Yet.

He stopped asking himself the _what if_ s and the _how_ s months ago, when he resigned himself to the idea that he can’t change who he is and what he feels; he can’t expect everyone else to accept whatever he decides to do, either. His family is too important to him: his parents made a lot of sacrifices to help him succeed in his studies and his career; his siblings counted on him and they looked up to him. He needs to make the right decisions. He needs to do what’s best for his family.

So he lies.

And now that he is watching the night blooming and the stars glittering in the darkness, he is reminded of those moments of distraction. Is it so bad to want to forget his problems for some time? Is it that bad to want something he can’t ever have?

What would he gain from continuing to visit the bridge, anyway? He would just torture himself with endless questions about the man. And how could he get any answers? He should find the courage and introduce himself.

His shoulders suddenly drop at the thought. Introduce himself? How? And why? He shouldn’t even think about it. He made that decision a while ago. So why is he suddenly thinking about it all over again?

In some ways, it’s the man’s fault. Alec was intrigued from the very first time, and he kept on being fascinated by him every time he saw him. He still doesn’t know why. Perhaps it’s really just about his beauty, something that never counted for Alec, but that now keeps on intruding his thoughts. Perhaps it’s just the curiosity born from the circumstances: meeting someone who keeps on doing the same thing, on the same spot, at the same time. Why does the man go there every evening? Alec would love to know more about him, about his clothes and his favourite colours, about what he thinks while staring at the dark sky and the soft movements of the waves of the lake.

Of course he could just ask. Go there, say hi, tell him everything, about how he noticed him last week and the days after, how he loved seeing different colours on him every weekday, how he wondered about their meaning. They could talk about everything or nothing, it wouldn’t matter. It would be another distraction, another way of forgetting, another way of postponing the inevitable discovery of the truth by his family, the irrevocable dismissal, the ultimate disapproval. It would give him something else to think about, something happier.

It’s too dangerous, however. He could lose himself in the images he just created: raise an arm, spread his fingers and touch the velvet of the man’s jacket, hoping he’s not intruding, fearing sure rejection.

Yes, he should give up. And he _will_ give up, like he gave up all of his hidden dreams. It’s the only right thing to do.

 

***

 

He doesn’t sleep well that Saturday night. He is back waking up multiple times and having strange nightmares of voids and an emptiness he doesn’t even want to remember. So he gets up, and goes from room to room: first into the kitchen to prepare tea, next to his bedroom to gaze at the stars, then back to the kitchen to finally settle down in his living room, paperwork on his small table.

And he works through Sunday too. He finally answers his siblings’ messages, assuring them he is well and just busy because of work, and that he will be there the next weekend for dinner. He sighs. Better get ready for it.

When he looks outside of the windows in his living room, he notices it’s already dark. Another day gone. He tried to avoid thinking about his life and the past week for several hours: he focused on finishing his paperwork and preparing everything for Monday, from the list of things to do at work, to his lunch for the next day. And now that he has nothing more to do, nothing that may help him forget, he can’t help himself but wonder.

Maybe he should do something. Small steps, innocuous steps that can’t hurt him or his family. Maybe he can try new things, hobbies that occupy his mind. First, he can try something by himself and be good at it. Then, he can try the same diversion in a social environment. Take classes, possibly. Or just spend time somewhere with a lot of people. Would it help him get through his shell? Would it make it easier to talk to people without freezing?

But is he really interested? He doesn’t know. Actually, he does. He is not. The only reason he’s thinking about those options is because of the man. For the first time, a part of himself wants to do something, _anything_. Would it have been so bad to say hi? To introduce himself? And say what? That he sees him there every evening?

Stupid.

No, the other part of himself was right and he certainly made the right decision. He could never have done that. And he knows he doesn’t want to do that with someone else, either. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.

 

***

 

He doesn’t sleep that night. There is no trepidation for the next day, no event to look forward to, no questions in his mind, no intrigue. Monday looks grey in his tired thoughts so he lets go. He lets go of any hope he had, of any expectation, of those imaginary scenes where he is brave enough to do what his heart is screaming at him to do, of any positivity he created. He lets go. And his life is full of shadows again.

Monday is back to being a bad day. It’s a day like any other, really. He prepares for work, he goes out and walks for a while. The bridge is empty in the early morning. He doesn’t even think about a new route to avoid it: he just crosses it, as if nothing has changed. No one is there anyway and no one is going to wait for him. There is no need for precautions.

The hours at the office are long. At first he dives into work, sure that everything will go back to the way it used to be: his mind should focus on his tasks and his problems will be forgotten in a dark part of his mind, ready to overcome him the second he stops doing what he has to, the second he takes a break.

But nothing is back to normal. He can’t concentrate. His thoughts keep on interfering with his reasoning, words belonging to past decisions, images of shadowed bridges and colours caressing his fingers without leaving any trace.

His body betrays him too: he catches himself moving a lot, either standing for no reason or checking outside of his window to see if it’s raining. The heavy clouds and the darkness of the day seem to call him every time he loses his train of thought, which is… too often. His fingers move restlessly, either to tap on his desk or on his pen, and he sometimes catches himself while doing it and he worries.

What’s happening? Why is he behaving like that?

Deep down, he knows the answer.

He found a loophole.

Life knocked on his door, whispering that there is a way, that he can escape the cage he put himself in. And he answered: he didn’t open that door. And now that he knows he missed an opportunity, he feels lost. His mind is assaulted by different emotions: he’s angry at himself for being scared; he’s sad because he will probably never have another opportunity like that one again; he’s relieved because opening that door would have meant changing everything, exposing himself and be ready for rejection. By answering negatively, he hadn’t risked anything.

Coward. He’s a coward.

He’s a coward, but he’s not changing his mind. Not even when he’s picking up his jacket and his work briefcase, ready to go home. He’s tired, even more than usual, and it’s only Monday. He needs to find a way to concentrate better, to let it go definitely, and he’s sure that time will help. Soon he’ll forget about the past week, about opportunities, about everything.

He frowns, stopping in his tracks, his mind silenced for a moment. There, in front of him, his sight catches something abandoned on the street, right outside the building’s entrance. It’s quite small but its colours caught his attention: even in the dark light of the late afternoon and the grey of the heavy clouds marring the sky, the hue of red covering the object attracts him. It’s a fascinating and alluring red and it’s the perfect background for some gold patterns, gleaming like starlight.

Alec moves slowly until he reaches the object. Without thinking too much, he crouches slightly, and his fingers close around the soft fabric. When he straightens, the item is resting on the palm of his right hand, his fingers spread in front of his chest, his eyes roaming eagerly to observe his new discovery.

It’s an amulet, a lucky charm, if he remembers correctly. Izzy wanted one desperately once and she had tried to convince their parents to buy it for good luck for her exams. He bought it for her in the end, and her delighted face had been his reward.

An omamori.

“Oh, thank you! I thought I lost it.”

Alec tenses when he hears the voice. He was completely focused on the charm, and didn’t even notice someone approaching. His gaze tears away from the omamori, and collides with the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.

The deep brown he catches is different from any shade he knows: the colour seems moving as if it’s alive, shining with vitality, reaching out to him. There are sparks in its depth and suddenly the colour changes: it’s amber, not pure brown.

Alec feels his eyebrows rise, his own eyes rounding, his mouth still open in surprise.

Such a colour can’t exist... can it?

There are at least three shades he can observe, one belonging to the brown he first noticed, reminding of warmth and safety; the second seems pure yellow, no, _gold_ , and it makes him wonder if it’s the same colour the stars would cast on his bedroom window on a brilliant, sunny day; the third is a hue in between, a shade that reminds him of copper, of velvet and magic.

It takes him sometime to make the connection, but when he does, he feels his heart give a painful squeeze, and he hears a harsh intake of breath: his.

Of course it _had_ to be. The moment he makes such an important decision, the moment he is taking the right path, life changes his plan and prevents whatever he chose for himself.

Because right there in front of him, it’s the incarnation of his distraction.

The man of the shadow bridge.

Of course it had to be _him_.

Alec could recognize him anywhere, and not only because of his colourful highlights – dark blue this time, matching his elegant outfit – but mainly because of his individuality: the way he carries himself, his spine straight, his head high, as if he has nothing to hide and he’s ready to face all the challenges of life without fear; the way he looks at the world – at him, right now – as if it’s a wonder, the same honour he gifts the lake and the endless sky at the bridge. It’s the way he seems to belong to the world surrounding him, as if he has lived through centuries of experience, pain, happiness, sadness, and love, and he knows how to react at anything that comes his way.

It’s certainty, it’s mystery, it’s grace.

“... you?”

His body feels disconnected to his thoughts; Alec can only feel his lashes on his skin, his eyes blinking fast as if trying to wake him up.

The man has spoken, probably asking something multiple times, and he lost himself while looking at him. _Again_.

There’s a soft clatter when Alec’s mouth closes, his jaw clenching.

What now?

“I’m-m... I’m s-sorry?” he stutters, trying to find his voice somehow. He knows – he _knows_ , damn it – that his face is probably flushed now. What is he going to do? He already made a fool of himself.

The man looks at him for a moment, watching him thoroughly as Alec just observed him, and, in the end, his lips curl into a tiny smile.

What does it mean?

“You found my charm,” he says, his chin pointing to Alec’s open palm, the omamori still visible, kissed by the dying light of the late afternoon. “I noticed I lost it and came back to look for it.” His brown – is it really brown? – eyes rise again to meet his, an amused touch in them, a perplexity underneath and Alec’s focus wavers again. _Don’t look at him, don’t look at him_.

He attempts to find his voice once more, but he can’t. Thus, he just shifts his gaze back to the charm, leaving the glamour of those ambers; his fingers grasp the soft material, and his arm extends some more, towards _him_.

He notices something changing on the man’s face – maybe his eyebrows rising? Is he surprised? – but he tries to ignore the impulse to look at him again. He merely offers the charm, with no words.

And, for just a second that feels like forever, the man’s skin brushes his when his fingers clasp the object between their bodies.

Alec takes an involuntary step back, now that his hand is empty; the omamori is back with its owner, who is looking at him strangely, a frown on his forehead, a tick in his jaw.

“Who are you?”

It’s a soft question, one that can start everything, that can change Alec’s life forever if he only finds the strength to answer.

But he can’t. He can’t meet the man’s questioning eyes, he can’t look fully at his beautiful face; he can’t even fathom why the universe would bring them _this_ close, now, of all times, when he resigned to avoid any distraction and focus on his duty.

He can’t. Because it would mean facing whatever is inside him, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready.

So he does what he can best: he flees. He mumbles something hurriedly, a stupid excuse, an _I have to go, sorry_ , all said in one breath, and his long legs are taking him around the man, and away, _away_ , before it’s too late, before his mind stops working and his heart takes control, before he regrets his decision completely.

He starts running at some point and he avoids the damnable bridge, the source of his problems, and he arrives home shortly after, much too early.

He enters fast, as if he’s chased by demons, and he locks the door behind himself. He stops now, the bag falling noisily on the floor from his lifeless fingers. He leans his forehead on the cold wood of the door and he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath and erase those images from his mind.

Of all the things that could happen, he had to meet him. Of all the people who could have an amulet and then lose it in front of the building where he works, it had to be him. Of all the people who could see him, it had to be him. He’s usually ignored, his siblings’ charm way stronger and more alluring than his, and he had always been okay with it. Until the crisis: until he realized that his life isn’t enough, that hiding and being ignored is not what he wants.

But now he feels stuck in the middle: part of him is ashamed and wants to go back, search for the man, say sorry and start all over again. Could it be so difficult? Share a name, say some formal things and start a conversation. See if he’s really as interesting as he seems, see if everything about him is as beautiful as it seems. However, the other part of him is relieved that he escaped, that he’s safe, surrounded by the familiar walls of his apartment. That part whispers in his mind that it’s better this way, that no one that beautiful could ever be interested in plain, mundane Alec Lightwood. It’s safer. No rejection, no pain, no suffering.

And that part grows stronger: it manages to move his heavy body from the door and clear his head. His mind is too tired to fight so he focuses only on the tasks at hand: change, have a shower, try to eat something. Some he manages, some others he gives up on: everything tastes like ashes, so he leaves his dinner on the table and he goes to bed. He doesn’t know if he will be able to sleep, but he’s so exhausted he just closes his eyes, and the shadows he fears so much now come to lull him toward oblivion.

He doesn’t wake up during the night, but he keeps on dreaming: at first he’s climbing some stairs and he reaches a very long bridge. He can’t see the end of it, nor what’s under, just that there are shadows around him whispering that it’s okay, and he should go. But before he manages to decide whether he wants to go or not he’s in another dream, and this time there’s just red velvet all around him, playing with him, showing him gold ornaments gleaming in the light. He wants to touch its softness and when he’s about to the dream ends and another starts. This time, he’s leaving his office after a long, tiring day and he’s walking home. He was sure it was evening – the sun surely set a long time ago, it’s autumn after all – yet, above him, there’s a sparkling sun. He stops, frowning. It seems bigger than it should be, or nearer than it should be. The colour is different too: is it really yellow? He’s not sure. He lifts his right hand, his fingers sprawling in front of his risen face to protect his eyes. Copper, perhaps? No, amber. He really likes the colour, but something seems off.

He doesn’t know what. Before he can understand what is going on, he finally succumbs to a dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

He is sure they’re going to fire him. If he was distracted the day before, on Tuesday he can’t even do what little he could on Monday. He doesn’t even get lost in his thoughts because he doesn’t have any. His mind is blank. When he looks at his fingers they seem strange, as if they belong to someone else.

He’s lost. He doesn’t know what to do. Sometimes he tries to think positively: it’s just a moment, he just needs time, everything will be alright and before he knows it his life will be back as it was, boring but safe.

Nonetheless.

Something has cracked inside him. Being _that_ near to a change, so close to finally accepting that part of him no one can ever discover, has shattered part of his heart.

And now he’s lost. He doesn’t know how to find the scattered pieces. He doesn’t know how to go back to normality, because there is no ordinary anymore.

Everything is different. _He_ is different. He would have never thought he could change that much in a week and a half.

Still, here he is, sitting at his desk, waiting for the day to be over, wondering what he should do. Shall he call in sick and take some days to rest and reorganize his thoughts? Perhaps he should really call Izzy or Jace and have that long due chat where he explains why he’s behaving this way and what is happening.

Perhaps.

Perhaps he should just wait for his shift to end and go home, try to eat something and wait for the next day. Yes, small steps are the best option.

He finally feels a bit of hope when it’s time to go. However, when he looks at his watch he worries. What if he meets him again? He would have known if he works here, in the same building. He’s sure he would have noticed him before; there is no way he would have missed him. So why was he here yesterday? The company Alec works for is big: does he have a position in a division Alec doesn’t work with? Or did he work for someone else and was just visiting that day?

More importantly, why is Alec wondering about it? It’s not his problem anymore. He let go.

So this time he doesn’t stay late at work: he grabs his things and he leaves with all the others. He’s relieved for once, and he promises himself he will do better the next day. Nothing can be worse than today.

The fresh air of the early autumn helps him clear his mind a little. He feels less caged outside, less alone. He walks slowly, carefully, as if the soft breeze is strong enough to disperse his limbs and carry him away; he focuses on his steps and his mind gets sharper only when the bridge starts looming ahead, promising of alluring whispers and distracting temptation.

He turns left sharply all of a sudden at the foot of the bridge, and he walks with purpose, concentrated and unaware of the world, stopping after some seconds at a red traffic light. He waits impatiently for the light to give him permission to walk and leave the shadows behind his back, in his past, where they belong.

 _Walk_.

“Hi.”

Alec’s shoulders tense when he hears that voice again.

And here they are, near each other once more. This time the man is next to him, coming from the opposite way for sure, and he’s looking at him with a small smile, his eyes guarded.

Those eyes. What is it about them? Is it really the colour that has so much power over him? Or is it the way they are observing him now, as if they can see his soul, as if they can read his mind? Something is different, however, from the day before. Alec was blinded by their curiosity and honesty yesterday, but now... Now they’re watchful.

Did he hurt him? He went away in a hurry, mumbling stupid excuses, not even able to have a proper conversation.

Does he find Alec strange? He couldn’t utter a single word, he didn’t even share his name.

Yet, here he is, once again, offering another beginning. Life is knocking on his door again and he’s not sure he’ll have another opportunity.

What should he do? Why would this happen a second time? Didn’t he decide to let go like a dozen times already? Why can’t he control this? It seems like every time he tries to deny his hidden desires something happens to shake him, to sway his beliefs.

And why can’t his heart stop squeezing inside his chest, making it hard to breathe?

“H-hi.”

It’s a whisper, but still an answer. He doesn’t know if he’ll regret it, but he tried to deny it, to turn his back on it, to run away, and it didn’t work. He might have had the possibility before this moment, but now he won’t be able to forget the amber of his eyes. Ever.

So he takes a leap of faith… and he waits.

A movement catches his attention and for the first time Alec notices how tense the man was too: his hands, clutching a small bag, finally relax and his smile widens. Yes, Alec did hurt him.

“I’m... I’m sorry for yesterday.” It’s louder than a whisper this time, but still a bit shaky. Better anyway. Alec takes a deep breath immediately after, hoping it was the right thing to do.

And it was. The man’s eyes change colour again and they seem to glitter: the soft light of the late afternoon seems trapped in them, glistening in amber shades.

“It’s okay. It was late, I understand.” There is something hidden in the man’s tone, but he doesn’t know what. Does he really understand? Alec doesn’t know, but he’s certain he needs to stop staring at him. That can’t be helpful for the conversation he needs to make up for. Yet, he can’t help the rush of blood all over his body, and he knows his face is red once again, a deep blush forcing its way.

 _Focus_.

“I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

Of course _that_ is his name. And what else to reflect his beauty? A grand name, for a grand presence.

He smiles slightly, too enthralled to even notice how shamefully he discarded all of his decisions and duties in one moment. He supposes he can’t defeat destiny.

“Alec.”

He never thought much about his name, however, the moment it caresses his lips and it’s out in the open, there is a change in the man in front of him: it’s surprise, maybe, or curiosity. Alec watches him blink multiple times and he’s looking at him straight in the eye, in the same way Alec was doing mere seconds before, lost in the shades of brown in his irises.

What is he seeing?

“Nice to meet you, Alexander.” There is a slight different intonation when the man – _Magnus_ – pronounces his full name: a question, to ask if he guessed correctly where the diminutive comes from. And for the first time in his life, Alec hears his name pronounced in a peculiar way: it’s uttered in a respectful tone, it’s a whisper of delight and wonder.

He feels _seen_. He feels _alive_.

 

***

 

Their second – official – meeting is brief.

His body feels heavy again, his mind is confused, his thoughts disjointed. When the other man says goodbye, with another of his soft smiles, murmuring about leaving him to his duties – to those, of all the things – Alec doesn’t even know what he mumbled back.

He stays there, looking at the man walking away, his back to him, his elegance still one of the aspects of him he can’t help but notice. He’s moving slowly but confidently, until he reaches his usual place on the bridge. There, Alec can see from the distance, he leans against the parapet, mimicking the same position Alec found him in the first time, and he looks out to the world, drinking in the beautiful sight of the sun setting to rest.

 _Magnus_.

There is no turning back now. Not after he met those eyes again, not after he knows his name. Nonetheless, he can’t move; he can’t reach him. It’s too soon, too confusing, too meaningful.

So he retreats but he’s not running away: while he walks back home, his heart gets lighter, his mind clearer and his focus sharper.

When he reaches home, he doesn’t dwell much on what happened but he concentrates on his usual routine: have a shower, eat something – finally, he’s starving – plan what he needs for work tomorrow.

And in the meantime, someone is always in his thoughts keeping him company, until he can’t focus on anything else and he just needs to plunge into contemplation.

What does he have to lose? Nothing. He really can’t go back to the way it used to be. Because even now, when he’s just staring outside his favourite window, looking at the shadows of the night, the stars above him make him think of someone’s eyes, and he can’t ignore it anymore.

 

****

 

If work on Tuesday was a torture, on Wednesday it’s a blessing. The hours pass through swiftly without him even noticing. One moment he just started working on his new case, the next his colleagues are already leaving, and the sunlight is making way for the breathtaking colours of the twilight.

Alec understands only now how much he’s been waiting for this moment: he needs it. He needs to see how he’ll react when things get different, when he’ll risk something and he’ll stop thinking about the consequences, about what he has to do to make everyone happy but himself, about what can go wrong.

He needs his life to be something new, and this time, after several opportunities he missed or decided to ignore, he is facing whatever will happen, sure that he’s going to feel stronger from any experience he can get, sure that it can’t be worse than this.

There are many hopeful thoughts in his mind while he walks towards the bridge: it feels refreshing. For once, he doesn’t dread what is coming next. For once, he’s walking with his back straight too, and if he’ll stutter or blush, he’ll be okay with it.

The stupid, optimistic smile remains on his face even when, once he reaches the foot of the bridge, he notices that Magnus’s spot is empty. People are walking back and forth, and the evening is just starting. He’s sure he’s early.

The stupid, optimistic smile starts dying while the minutes tick by. He didn’t steal his place, just leaned near it, so that he can be sure he’ll see him when he’ll arrive. The beautiful sight in front of him, the waves of the lake chasing one another, and the intensity of the night darkening every second, can’t distract him enough: Alec keeps on looking around, certain that a tall man and his meaningful colours will appear sooner or later.

He realizes now, when doubts start whispering in his mind, that he came here without knowing what to do. He just had the idea of reaching the spot, say hi again, maybe apologize once more for his behaviour and then ask one of the million questions he has. _Why that colour tonight? Do they have a meaning? Why does he come here? To enjoy the sight? To escape from his thoughts? What does the charm stand for?_

At first he thought he wanted to come just to try to have a normal conversation with someone that is not family and not belonging to the world of his job. An outsider. Someone who could help him to understand himself, even if indirectly.

Now, he’s not sure anymore. If it was only because of that he wouldn’t feel this terrible sensation in the pit of his stomach, would he? He would turn around, look at the people walking behind him, stop someone that seems somehow interesting to him, and start that longed for conversation. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone; he doesn’t want to know about anyone. He missed being lost in amber. He missed being distracted by two suns. And he can’t believe life knocked on his door twice, destroying every wall he built around himself, to leave him with nothing.

Maybe he was right all along; that’s what his doubts are murmuring in his heart. Maybe it was all a trick of the universe. Why would he stand here alone, deep in the night, when no one is around anymore, after he waited and waited, if not because of that.

Maybe, there is no reason at all.

Maybe, it’s not meant to be. And he just has to accept it.

 

***

 

He doesn’t know whether Thursday is worse than Tuesday. It probably is. He tasted a bit of joy and his days are now more grey than ever. Perhaps it was better not knowing, not hoping.

Alec looks around his office, lost for a second. He notices all of his colleagues working on cases of their own, their concentration clear. He is the only one distracted. When did he wake up, however? What did he eat this morning? He doesn’t remember anything. His thoughts keep on confusing him, his focus somewhere far, on dreams he discarded a long time ago, and nightmares that will haunt him again very soon.

There is a positive aspect despite that: time flies and soon he’s alone at his desk once more, wondering what he should do. What is the point of continuing to pretend to work? He can’t concentrate and it’s a waste of time. Better go home and try to gather back the pieces of his life.

He doesn’t think much when he leaves the building. The sky is not entirely dark, yet the twilight is almost completely covered by heavy clouds. In the distance, a silent lightning brightens the firmament. Rain is in the air, he’s sure.

So he walks faster, avoiding any contact, trying not to catch the eyes of the people around him.

But he doesn’t want to avoid the bridge.

He keeps on striding ahead, his head high. He wants to at least take revenge on whatever life has planned for him, so he walks across the bridge like he always did in the past, like he always imagined he would do. No distraction, no excuses, no running.

But his plans are ruined once again.

There, leaning on the parapet on his favourite spot around the middle of the bridge, he sees Magnus, one elbow on the railing, his palm holding his chin.

Alec stops, startled.

He feels like he’s inside a dream, or living in a picture; the scene in front of him is too strange, beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. The cold breeze of a storm keeps on disturbing the waves of the lake under and all around them, but the man seems unaffected. His black clothes are whipped by the intrusive wind, his black hair – no highlights this time – tousled.

Something is wrong.

He knows from the way Magnus carries himself, not straight and elegant, as if he’s ready to face all the problems in the world, as if he’s ready to face life itself; he’s leaning too much on the concrete in front of him; his shoulders are hunched forward: is he waiting for the storm to hit him? Is he protecting himself from something within him?

There is only one way to find out.

He’s aware of his body moving, and he tries to make himself smaller, conscious of his tall form, of his posture, of his unimportance. But he wants to try; he owes it to himself, to life knocking thrice now, to Magnus who didn’t give up.

His heart contracts painfully at first, and then beats faster and faster, until his heartbeat is the only noise he can hear. His neck and cheeks are hot, a sign that he’s blushing too much already. But this time he won’t turn back.

While he moves closer he realizes he was right. There is indeed something that is off. Magnus’s face is different: it is lacking that openness and sweetness he gifted him with when they talked; his eyes are completely shadowed, worse than that second time they met; his limbs are tense, as if his mind is trapped in dark thoughts and he can’t resurface to breathe.

“Hey.”

He knows he managed to startle the man when he sees quick movements, his face turning towards him, his back straightening, his palm empty now that his arm is lowering on the railing. And those eyes – will he ever stop wondering about them? – are widening in surprise, his eyebrows rising high.

“Alexander?”

He thought he would never forget how majestic his name sounds uttered by Magnus, yet here it is, reality shattering his memories completely. What he remembered didn’t give this moment any justice.

Alec smiles slightly when he sees Magnus adjusting his body, turning completely towards him, dark thoughts forgotten for a while. He managed to distract him and he hopes it is a small gift for all those times Magnus distracted Alec from the negative part of his mind.

He doesn’t know how to avoid something he wants to address, nor does he care to hide what he thinks. So he goes directly to the point, hoping he doesn’t sound too blunt. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the wrong question to ask: Magnus’s pleasant surprise scatters in the wind, replaced by sudden sadness. It’s just a moment and Alec wonders if it was a trick of his mind, because right after the sorrow is gone, replaced by a small, soft smile.

“I am now, thank you.”

Alec knows his blush has gotten deeper when he sees Magnus’s smile widening, but he just can’t help himself. He is really too beautiful, and it’s not fair to be that dazzling _and_ gentle. He’s aware he’s staring again; however, he also noticed Magnus is staring back at him, marveling, as if he has never seen someone like him before. Is it a good sign?

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t have the chance to ask, because both get distracted by a loud thunder roaring in the sky. They both glance up, at the dark and heavy clouds, as surprised as if they were caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Alec hears Magnus’s playful tone, and he turns his attention back to him, stunned. And there, in the depth of those brown eyes, the amber shades are dancing with delight, looking at him in wonder.

Alec straightens under that stare, confused. What is he seeing in him? The same novelty and mystery he would love to unravel? Does he feel the same longing to know more, to discover any secret he can?

He’d love to start asking questions and finally satisfy his curiosity, but he’s afraid he’ll sound intruding. Besides, there is something he has to confess first, that may change whatever conversation they’ll have.

“I-I saw you here before... I, well, do- do you like it here?”

Oh well. Odd and naïve, but at least he tried. He suppresses the urge to scratch the back of his head, his shyness getting in the way, but he’s sure he can’t do worse than confessing he saw Magnus on the bridge several times.

He expected an irritated reaction, a denial or a bad look; instead, he’s graced with melodic laughter. Alec blinks, looking at Magnus’s eyes full of delight, his body relaxed and at ease. Alec lets out a long sigh, relieved.

“I think I saw you too before, and yes, I do love it here.”

Alec’s heart skips a beat at the unexpected confession, and he just stays there, staring fascinated at the tall man, wondering when the situation turned into something mutual. Or maybe it hasn’t and he is just deceiving himself.

He doesn’t know for sure and he keeps wondering, even when they both turn toward the beautiful sight in front of them, leaning onto the parapet, their arms almost brushing, near but still too distant. And without him noticing, they start to talk, and not even the loud and more frequent claps of thunder in the sky can distract them.

Alec discovers his direct and blunt way of asking doesn’t bother Magnus like it bothers most people; Magnus actually seems to enjoy his questions, flattered by their honesty; and at the same time, Alec loves the curious and straightforward inquiries Magnus makes, as if he isn’t afraid of sharing his interest.

If Alec thought discovering more about the mysterious man on the bridge would finally satisfy his heart, he has to admit that he was completely wrong. The more they talk, the more he wants to know, and they would have continued to enjoy each other’s company until deep into the night; however, the sky had different plans: when the first heavy drops of rain fall between them, they look up surprised, and they finally notice how late it is, as well as the complete absence of people all around them. It’s _too_ late – they both work the following day – but instead of saying goodbye reluctantly, they decide to walk together for a while, knowing they’ll share another small part of each other’s route towards home.

Alec feels distracted again now because he knows the magic of the moment is almost completely gone; he finds himself violently pushed back into reality and he wonders if those hours of lovely conversation were just a beautiful dream.

He doesn’t know what to do or what to say anymore when they finally stop, the streets going into opposite directions. Silence has surrounded them, but he doesn’t want to let go. What can he do?

“See you tomorrow?”

He was too focused on understanding what to do to look at Magnus’s eyes like he loves to, so when he hears the suggestion, his gaze leaves the concrete under him, to find the vivid brown of Magnus’s irises staring at him with anticipation.

And the solution is so simple.

“See you tomorrow.”

 

***

 

Two weeks. He thought his life would never change, and although he knows it’s too soon to even think that he discovered what he always wanted, he can’t help but finally feel... different. He’s not happy, not yet, but he’s excited: for once, he’s at ease with someone and he doesn’t have to hide from; for once, he found someone he’s not afraid to show who he really is; for once, he feels like himself.

Two weeks. On a rainy evening, exactly two weeks ago, he noticed a mysterious man watching the world as if he knew every secret of it.

It’s Friday again and for the first time in months he’s not scared of the weekend, of the hours of loneliness, of the emptiness he’s about to face. This time, he thinks only about the present: work better than the past days, wait for the early evening to come, hope nothing will go wrong.

And when it’s time, he doesn’t even think about what to say or what will happen: there’s no need. He learned that he needs to just live in the moment and react in the best way he can.

He’s not surprised to see Magnus already waiting for him; he is, however, pleased to see him turned toward the direction he knows Alec will appear from, his luminous eyes searching for his hazel ones. And when they spot him, he sees Magnus’s concentrated face change, joy taking over.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, too grateful to see Magnus there to stop himself from rushing the last meters.

“Hi.” It’s a whisper that he hears back and all of a sudden there’s a loud buzz in his ears.

Magnus is right there, eating the distance between them, his blazing eyes piercing through him, his body brushing his. Alec’s heartbeat is loud – too loud – and his breathing probably too harsh as well, but he doesn’t care for once: his soul is burned by the amber observing him, telling him that maybe the misery he has lived for almost two weeks was well worth it.

He knows Magnus is giving him all the time in the world to retreat or to stop him, and he’s touched by the thought; however, he’s done running away. He took a leap of faith and he wants to go until the end of it.

There is still one moment when his eyes capture his, as if asking him if he’s okay, and maybe they finally found the answer. The first time their lips brush against one another Alec feels his limbs trembling, the shock of it too intense to contain. He knew, he was ready, he made a choice, yet it’s still too new, too surprising, too incredible.

It’s just a soft touch, an innocent promise, but when they find each other’s eyes again, their bodies caressing, everything has changed: there are no ifs, no doubts, no insecurities. It’s in the open now and both of them are unafraid.

Two weeks, to admit and discover who he is. And he would live them again every day, now that he knows what will await him: Magnus Bane.


End file.
